


Pac man and Toast

by Pezzythecat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pezzythecat/pseuds/Pezzythecat
Summary: prompt fillsafehouse- cooking- waking up.self-indulgent fluffbecause we all know we are not getting a happy ending
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Kudos: 38





	Pac man and Toast

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the lovely folks on the Watchers Crown discord, for giving me something to try and get me past my writer's block. your all mad. never change!
> 
> all mistakes are my own, you think someone is stupid enough to beta my brain rambles? 
> 
> kudos and comments make quarantine not so bad and might give me a kick up the butt to finish my other stuff. who knows.

The sun pooled warm across the yellow bedspread as the world came awake around them, in the far distance the sound of a rooster welcomed the dawning of a new day. A mumbling from closer, from below the folded fabric of the hand me down bedding and tight against his chest, the sound of another waking in the small slice of paradise that had been carved out for only them. Hand falling to the fading curls that wrapped around freckled ears, soft against the scared and beaten hand that carded through them, gently pulling the owner from what had seemed like such a restful slumber.

“What was that love?”

Grey eyes found his, cast up from below heavy eyes, not yet fully aroused from sleep and blinking in the still too bright sunlight that fell from the uncurtained windows. 

“I'm going to kill that rooster.” Martin murmured, turning his head into the touch as Jon stroked the hair back from his face, it was becoming something akin to a haystack, it’s unruly nature now growing out rather than down, his likeness to the cow’s down the road had not gone unnoticed, the gentle teasing had followed the moving van up the valley and lingered much longer than it had taken them to unpack there few boxes of personal belongings. 

“You are not going to kill the rooster.”

“I am if it keeps waking me up at…” he blinked trying to unhook his arm from below Jon’s back, no doubt trying to find his watch. The watch that didn’t work had not worked since the run-in with the End, outside Nottingham, but it had been Tim’s and Martin refused to throw the thing out.

“It’s half nine, I let you sleep in.” a gentle kiss to a wrinkled forehead, a shift of skin against skin. Home. Safe.

“Half nine is not a lie in.” a face scrunched into his chest, close to a heart that was almost human. Exasperated breath against skin. Safe. Home. Gentle and soft in a world that was beginning to thaw and offer up a life outside of the control of god’s that did nothing but play games with ever-changing rules. Martin sighed into his chest fingers trailing the scars where the web had held him together when his own skin no longer managed the job, a memory of another life. “You are going to make me get up aren't you?” 

Jon tried to keep the chuckle silent but his chest gave him away. He delighted in the begrudging moan that befell his ears. 

“If I promise to make breakfast, will I be forgiven?” Jon took the way Martin rolled away from him and threw off the blanket as a yes. Stretched out at his side, bones clicking and scars stretching and glinting in the sun, a patchwork of battle scars against the scattering of freckles, constellations darkening his pale skin. Jon sat up stretching aware that Martin was watching him just as intently as he observed him, he could feel eyes on him, watching him as he ran his hands over his sleep pressed face, stubble scraping against his palms.

Jon reached out grabbing the oversized cardigan that he used to keep the chill off, although the sun had warmed the cottage to the point he really didn’t need it, the idea of walking around in just his underwear still felt strange, after years of having neighbours that could see in each and every window, the fact that their nearest neighbour had a tail and horns and probably didn’t care about the fact they still hadn’t hung the curtains yet, still hadn’t sunk in. Martin seemed not to care, happily walking to the window to look out over the gravel yard in only his boxers, cows be damned. After all the man had no problems walking around the archives in just his pants, it shouldn't have been a surprise that he felt at home doing it in front of his husband and half a dozen cows. Somewhere on the horizon, the rooster crowed again. 

“Can you eat roosters?” Martin asked turning his attention back to the room as Jon moved towards the hallway, Martin followed, it had been a rhetorical question but still, Jon found himself answering, leftover avatar powers hovering as he held on to the edge of sleep, hands moving on autopilot as the two of them set about the morning routine. Jon lit the stove as Martin clicked on the kettle, turning to watch as Jon opened the fridge and flipped a knob of butter into the frying pan before putting it on the hob. As he watched the fat move around the pan melting he felt Martin come up behind him and one arm wrap around his waist as he held him closer. A stubble covered chin rubbed against a stubble covered head. 

“I miss your long hair.” a kiss placed against the salt and pepper stubble.

“It will come back.” Jon tried not to think of how much it looked like that wasn't looking likely. It had been months now, and it refused to grow back in anything but clumps that he buzz cut with a vicious intent. It seemed like such a stupid thing to get upset about, so he tried his best not too, just another thing taken from him without his consent, given away to the corruption, but done at his own hand. Martin moved with him as he moved to crack eggs into the pan, mixing and seasoning with the human equivalent of a limpet stuck to his back. 

“Tea?” 

Martin stepped back, running one hand over the back of his head, Jon tried not to chase the touch but failed. Earning him a smile as warm as the sun that had woken him in the early hours. He asked at least twice a day what he had done to deserve that smile, what he had done to deserve this man who wanted him just the same.

He watched as tea bags were added to the two hideous Mr and Mr cups that Georgie and Meline bought them as a wedding present, hideous tie-dye things that remind him strongly of Helen. He watches as Martin adds the water from the kettle and stirs in two sugars, exactly the same way Jon makes it, but it never tastes the same. Tea made by Jon just never tasted as good, no matter how many times Martin showed him the right way to make it.

“Eggs, Jon.” the corners of Martin’s lips twitched but his eyes never moved from the cups, counting in his head so he could make the perfect brew. Jon turned his attention back to the breakfast, catching the eggs just before they burned. Pulling the pan off the gas and flipping them up onto a plate, Martin moves to stick the bread in the toaster before scooping the tea bags out the cups and launching them at the bin with a chuckle. “That’s the second time you burned breakfast this week. Should I be concerned?”

“ I was distracted.”

“Likely story.” Martin reaches past him, grabbing the milk from the fridge, turning to pour it into the tea. Jon watches as he picks up the teaspoon and mixes in the milk, taking out the spoon and tapping the dregs off on the side. Once. Twice. Three times… Four Times… Jon’s scared hand reaches out to still Martins. Taking the spoon away from a shaking hand. He doesn't need to look at Martin's face to know the haunted look that will have fallen across it.

Jon reaches out taking hold of the cup closest to him, he knows Martin is watching panicked as he raises it to his lips and takes a sip, it’s perfect just as he expected it to be. 

“It’s ok Martin, It’s just tea.” he searched out Martin's gaze, waiting for the vacant stare to leave his deep grey eyes. He shakes his head from under the haystack of hair and blinks. He doesn’t apologize, they don’t say sorry for the trauma that others have inflicted upon them, they never say sorry for things they can’t control. Not here. 

Jon stands on his tiptoes placing a gentle kiss on Martin’s lips, the taste of tea still lingering, and all the comfort that it brings trying to push away the memories of things with too many legs and the creeping doubt they bring.

The toaster buzzes pulling them back into the moment, Martin begrudgingly pulling away from the kiss before the toaster violently projects its contents across the room, the first time they had used it the toast had launched itself with such ferocity that Martin had to use a chair to pull the slices from the top of the cupboard. Daisy had found it hilarious when they told her the gift she had given them had tried to take off Jon’s head. But for now, Martin moves with well-timed ease, grabbing the toast before it becomes airborne and dropping it on to the plates before it has time to burn his fingers. He scoops up the plates and moves over to the tiny breakfast bench next to the window, Jon carrying the teas right behind them.

Martin takes his hand as he jumps up onto the barstool that is comically too tall for him to get on to in any sort of dignity. Martin twists his fingers in with Jon’s, palm to palm thumb tracing the scar tissue, silver band pressing against long healed burns. Lifting Jon’s hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss on the back of his hand before turning his attention to his breakfast.

They sit in silence as they eat, no great rush, even if they need to do a million things to fix the place up, to bring it back to the house they loved in that small pocket of time when the cottage had been more than a safe house, it had been home. 

With the sun streaming through the window, the trees blowing in the breeze and the grass and flowers in the meadow beyond the gate in full bloom, it was hard to think back to when these four walls had felt as much a prison as sanctum, that he had ended the world in the room next door, and found the centre of his world in the four walls that held them safe, even now. There had been no doubt in his mind that this was where they would return, should Daisy let them, this was the first place that had ever felt like home. Plus as Daisy had pointed out as she grinned at him in her best man persona ‘ _ not much resale value on ground zero for the apocalypse.’  _ she was right of course and looking around the room, he couldn’t imagine anyone but him and Martin living in this space. It was slowly taking on their personalities, from the novelty fridge magnets and the strange collection of rocks that sat on the window, to the battered doc martens that stood by the door next to a stack of books that Basira had sent with the last post and hadn’t found there way to the already overflowing bookcase. 

His eye settled on Martin, staring out the window and trying to flatten his hair in his reflection, a feeling of utter adoration flooded him as he looked at the man he had married, taking in the bird's nest hair, the freckles and the scars, taking in the way he hooked his calves around the legs of the barstool and the absurdity of the pac man boxers and how they shouldn’t be attractive, yet they were perfect, just like the man himself. Martin caught him staring and swung to face him, his ears reddening at attention, he began leaning forward to place a kiss on Jon’s cheek but Jon moved to meet him, catching his lips on his own, raising his hands to tangle with the mess of curls that piled upon Martin’s head pulling him deeper into the kiss. This was the new normal, flashbacks and scars, breakfast, kisses and wedding presents that may or may not be from the living embodiment of insanity but he wouldn't change it for the world. 

well … apart from one thing and now seemed to be as good a time as any...

He broke away from the kiss resting one hand on Martin’s chest as he rocked back on his chair. “Mr Sims?” he took a second to appreciate the flustered look on Martin’s face, he still wasn’t used to it. 

“Yes, Mr Sims?”

“We should get a cat.”

  
  



End file.
